None of it was enough.
Not the calls answered on the weekend, or the emails written late at night. Not the social life she sacrificed to meet Roger’s unrelenting demands. Not the endless abuse she absorbed until her heart staggered and her breath came in heaving gasps.
You haven’t proven yourself to me.
She knew his favorite cocktail and his preferred brand of undershirt. She filled his prescriptions and drafted his presentations. She cleaned his ashtray twice a day because the building janitorial staff refused to touch his office. She filled her head with meaningless facts about his life, all to prove that she was worth investing in.
All it had proven was that she served at his beck and call.
Charlotte had nothing outside this job and it still wasn’t enough. She would never be enough.
“…is war. It’s a goddamn competition. Every day you gotta be the first, be the smartest, be the best…”
She remembered Reece’s profile tightening as Roger berated her. Her stomach filled with acidic brown humiliation. It was so much worse to have a witness, to have him witness her degradation. Now for a second time. She couldn’t ignore Roger’s insults when Reece’s reaction played out across his face. His horror made her reality impossible to ignore.
From now on she would see Reece’s face when Roger called her stupid. She would see Reece’s brows furrow in offense. She would see his eyes dart to her in concern. She would remember.
You haven’t shown your dedication to this company.
“…first at your desk in the morning and the last to leave at the end of the day. If you clock out before the sun sets, you’re walking out on your dreams…”
Why had she run herself into the ground for this man? What had she sacrificed her friendships for, her community for? The chance to maybe, someday, move to another team, where she would continue to work overtime to design a magazine that did jack shit to make the world a better place? What kind of dream was that? What was all this striving for? What was she killing herself for?
Maybe Jackie was right about this too. Maybe abuse was all she knew.
Disgraceful.
For years Charlotte had sanded down her edges to try to fit the box her mother had made for her. She’d done it again with Ben, falling victim to the same dynamic because she didn’t recognize his tactics. She thought she broke the cycle when she cut her mother out of her life, but here she was again. This was different; she didn’t want love or validation from Roger, she held on to this job for financial security. But Roger knew that too. He knew how vulnerable she was as layoffs rattled the bones of the media industry, and he used it to exploit her. Another abuser in a line of abusers who bled her of her strength and convinced her she deserved it.
Why should she even live-tweet his grandiose bullshit? Why should she go above and beyond for a man who would never, ever notice her effort? Why should she care one iota about Roger’s approval? She could never prove herself to a man who treated her like dog shit.
Sometimes the only option you had was to leave.
If you want to keep your job, you should reconsider your attitude.
Fuck that. On Monday she would start applying for jobs. When she landed something else, she would give her two weeks’ notice.
Hell, she would give a week.
If in two months she still had nothing, she would quit anyway. She had to take responsibility for what was within her control. She didn’t have to subject herself to this anymore.
Her friends would catch her when she fell. They kept offering to help and she didn’t believe them, but why shouldn’t she? Had they ever given her a reason not to trust them? Jackie fed her and dressed her and pushed her to share her feelings. Reece talked her through her anxiety and held her hair back when she puked. Jio and Matt kept telling her to stay with them in D.C.
She said so herself: She didn’t know how to ask for help.
It was time for her to learn.
There are so many people who love you, Charlie.
She could figure out the details later. The math of her finances didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to live like this anymore.
Charlotte blinked away unshed tears. The roaring in her ears quieted. She took another deep breath. She let it go.
She focused on her surroundings. The metal folding chair stuck to her thighs. Sunlight poured across the President’s Lawn. Imani, the bartender from Thursday’s class reception, stood behind the water station, still in her blue R&C shirt. The student grimaced as she listened to Roger’s commencement address.
Someone had given Charlotte’s boss an elaborate gown to wear over his suit. The shiny blue fabric clashed with his spray tan. His eyes bulged from his face. He must look ridiculous to the university’s new graduates. She knew Roger well enough to recognize the liquored-up recklessness in how he spoke, and she’d bet the Hein kids listening could hear it too.
The energy on the President’s Lawn had changed. Students exchanged whispers behind cupped hands. Parents shifted uncomfortably on their folding chairs. Imani took out her phone to record Roger’s address, one hand over her mouth in horror.
Charlotte sat up straight, wondering what she’d missed.
Across the field, Roger hunched over the lectern, his blue-and-silver cap askew. “Your generation thinks you are so special,” he sneered. The mic clipped to his lapel popped and hissed as it picked up the disdain in his voice.
Oh my god.
Her hand rose to her mouth too.
Roger wasn’t kidding in the parking lot. His address was pure, uncensored Roger Ludermore wisdom. This time he didn’t have a podcast editor to polish his dreck, and boy, had he picked the wrong audience.
Imani guffawed as she leaned against the water refill station. She pinched her fingers on her phone screen, zooming in on Roger’s face as she filmed.
“You all complain when life doesn’t hand you everything you want,” he continued. Charlotte could see the malicious glee in his eyes all the way across the field. He was enjoying himself, ignorant of the damage he was causing. Or worse, reveling in it. “The world isn’t out to get you. It doesn’t care if you’re a woman or gay or whatever words you all use now. The world just doesn’t give a shit about you.”
A shocked laugh escaped her mouth. Never in her wildest work-related fantasies did she think Roger would be reckless enough to broadcast his bigoted opinions to the world.
With a sneaking suspicion, she typed the Reunion & Commencement hashtag into Twitter. A sea of tweets from Hein grads and their parents filled her screen. Roger’s name was already trending locally.
@Annabellecruz96: Roger Ludermore is a sexist bigot and I can’t believe Hein brought him here to speak. What an insult to one of the most diverse graduating classes in the school’s history. #HeinRandC2018
